His Blue Eyes
by TheWayThingsCouldBe
Summary: Movie: Moonlight Mile. Before Moonlight Mile, Diana Floss made the most difficult choice of her life: saying goodbye to Joe Nast.


_This takes place before Moonlight Mile and is told from Diana's point of view. _

_I don't own Moonlight Mile, but I hope you like this. If you do, please review!_

* * *

The first thing I see when I wake up is Joe. He's trying to separate the white curtains beside the bed to get a peek outside, most likely.

The drapes do a good job of keeping my old room dark even in the mornings- they always have- and when they're opened the glow of the sunlight that comes into the room is enough to wake me from my sleep.

It's instantaneous, and he jumps to pull the curtains back closed as soon as he is blinded by the sudden change from dark to light.

"Hey honey," I murmur, still half-asleep, turning to him and he looks upset with himself.

"Aww, Di… I'm sorry," he apologizes as he sits down on the bed beside me. "Didn't think..."

"It's okay," I tell him, and I mean it. This isn't his fault. He always blames these things on himself.

He smiles that gorgeous smile of his and lets me lean onto him as he places his right hand over my left, poking himself on the stunning engagement ring he picked out for me before he proposed. His hand springs back and we both laugh.

I don't know exactly why he's been so jumpy lately. Pre-wedding jitters, I suppose, but I have other notions of what it is and then the thought escapes my mind.

We're quiet for a moment, but it's nice. Sometimes the silences are awkward. I hate it then. This time I don't mind at all.

But after a moment I do mind. Because this reminds me of those times when I know that Joe doesn't have anything to say to me when he should have so much. And sometimes there are things that I know my future husband would say to me. And he doesn't say them. And when he kisses me, his touch against my lips is not passionate but tender and thoughtful, and when we make love it's the same.

But my thoughts are cut off when he breaks the silence. "We're really getting married," he says, that childlike excitement on the edge of his voice, and in the corner of the mirror at the foot of my bed I see this odd, broken look on his face. He clutches my hand harder.

And right away I can't say anything because there is no correct response.

"Di?" he asks and he wraps both of his arms around me, and I let him but I can't embrace him in return. Not right now.

"Joe…" I start, but the courage to say what I must doesn't come.

"Diana," he uneasily says my name, trying to hush me with his eyes like he always does, and I know he's afraid of what I'm going to tell him.

That thing he does with his eyes almost works. Sometimes I think he wears drab browns all the time because it accentuates the blue-greenness of his eyes, makes them even stronger at conveying what he must. But the look can't stop me from what I must say.

"We're not getting married," I finally blurt and he gives me a look like I'm crazy.

He just shakes his head at first and gives me a look, but when I don't back down he speaks. "You… you don't know what you're talking about," he says, and he chuckles, thinking I'm joking or I've temporarily gone insane. I know that it's not the case.

"No, Joe," I tell him, and I have to look him straight into his eyes to let him know I mean it, "we can't get married."

He's stunned silent for a moment before he manages a tense "Why?"

I don't want to tell him. He won't have it. But I have to be honest.

"You can't marry me," I answer.

He laughs. "You're crazy," he says. "We're getting married."

I sigh. It feels useless to argue. Stupid. But he has to know. He knows already, but he won't let himself.

"Joe… you don't want to do this," I tell him, and then suddenly I see it in his face that he knows I'm right, but he still won't admit it.

He thought that it was me. He thought that I didn't want to pull through with all of this, for a minute. But now he knows it's him and it's almost harder.

Because he realizes that I still want this. I want to be his wife, and I want him to be my husband, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him.

Except that we both be happy. That's what I want, just a tiny bit more. If he's not happy, I'm not either.

"I…I do want to marry you," he says, shocked and well-aware that he's lying now, and his voice cracks and grows almost childlike, like it always does when he's upset.

"You don't," I tell him.

"I… don't," he repeats, he can't help it, and he's crying because sometimes the truth can be too hard.

"I love you, Joe," I tell him, and I get up out of bed, standing near the door.

"And I love you…" Joe says and stands too, and he can't stand that we both know there will be no wedding.

"I know you do," I nod and he nods too, "but, you love me like a friend. You can't marry based on that. I won't let you."

"But… I can," he argues. "You're my best friend."

"You don't love me like a husband needs to love a wife. You don't love me like I love you," I explain, and turn away, ready to step out the door.

"Wait," he says, and I love him so I do. "This… this isn't it. This can't be."

I turn around in the doorway. "We're still friends," I say, and it sounds ridiculous but I mean it. "I'll have to tell my parents eventually. Just tell me when you're ready to pack."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Joe… you've known for six months," I tell him, and he can't believe I know, but I sensed it right away and now I know he had a plan once but it hadn't worked out. His eyes say it all.

He just nods.

"What was supposed to happen?" I ask.

"It was supposed to change," he shakes his head. "I was supposed to fall in love with you… or you were supposed to fall out of love with me. I don't know." He's disgusted with himself and it's hard to watch him.

And as I leave him in the room he looks broken and small, and I regret realizing it all now and I regret making him understand, because I love him and because he's beautiful and I've lost him as whatever I had dreamed he would be to me.

But as I close the door behind me I hear a faint "Thank you," and I know that I've done the right thing.

* * *

THEEND 


End file.
